


A Fresh Poison Each Week

by brahe



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: M/M, basically feelings, mostly from newt's view, reflections about life in the maze
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 23:14:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3186857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brahe/pseuds/brahe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't easy, being together in a place like the Glade, but they try to make it work because they couldn't do it alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fresh Poison Each Week

**Author's Note:**

> New ship, woo! Except not because WOW FEELINGS. Anyway, first foray into this ship so comments much appreciated. (also, hey look, it's over a thousand words! woo!)
> 
> Title from Take Me to Church by Hozier

Every day was a fight, every week a battle. More days than not Newt found himself wondering why they put themselves through this, but then Thomas would smile and he'd remember. He loved that boy more than he though possible.  
It was routine. Before sun-up daily Newt would walk to the closed doors with Thomas and Minho. They wouldn't speak, just proceed silently with hands clasped tightly together. Minho always walked ahead, giving them some semblance of privacy. Once at the doors, Minho would busy himself with checking his equipment and Newt would tug Thomas to him and hug him tight. Thomas would gently hold his face and kiss him like it's the last time, because it could be. It wasn't a guarantee that Thomas would come back, and Newt tried not to worry. It never worked.  
Newt would kiss him back just as fierce and sometimes he'd pretend he didn't hear the doors opening and that he didn't have to let Thomas go, maybe for the last time. But Thomas always left eventually, reluctantly, and with a lingering glance that made Newt's blood feel on fire. Newt would stay by the doors a moment longer after they disappeared, and with a whispered "I love you," he'd turn to back to the Glade and try to put thoughts of Thomas behind thoughts of the boys.  
  
Sometimes it didn't work. There were days where, for some reason, Newt would be consumed by worry that came from seemingly nowhere. Alby usually noticed not thirty minutes after daybreak, and would send him off with Chuck or someone who'd be stable. No one mentioned those days, at least not to his face, a fact for which he was grateful.  
Some days he only needed a hour before he was back to work beside his brothers, but some days none of the Gladers would see him until the sun began to set. Newt would stay in the Homestead, curled on Thomas's bed, sometimes talking softly with Chuck and sometimes sleeping. He wasn't sure what brought on these days, but he would never tell Thomas. He didn't need to worry; there was too much at stake already.  
  
It seemed to Newt that they cut it close more times than they played it safe. As soon as the sun began to set, sometimes before, Newt would constantly check the doors for any sign of Minho and Thomas. The pacing began a few minutes later. Alby would usually stand with him, probably to keep him from doing something stupid. Newt would never say it, but he was grateful for the watchful eye.  
There were a few times, Newt could give you the specific number if you so desired, that they barely made it back before the doors closed. One time, they were slowed by an ankle injury Minho sustained. One time, they were trying to lose a Griever before they came back. The closest call, perhaps, was when the doors had already been moving when they rounded the corner, running faster than Newt had ever seen. Thomas shoved Minho through before him, stupid martyr, and then Thomas’s pants got stuck as the doors thudded shut. When he had freed himself and looked to Newt with a face half self-impressed and half sheepish, Newt slapped him. Hard. "I love you, too," Thomas grumbled, rubbing at his cheek.  
"Never, _ever_ do that to me again," Newt hissed, pulling Thomas to him and kissing him hard and angry.  
"I'm sorry," Thomas whispered, and no one said anything when Newt buried his face in Thomas's neck.  
  
The usual reunions tended to be bittersweet things. Newt waited by the doors every day without fail, and Thomas ran straight into his arms. They hugged, comforting and calming, as Minho slowed to a jog as he approached them. Newt would tangle his hands in Thomas's hair as Alby talked to Minho and run his gaze over his face, checking for injuries and committing it to memory the best he could. Thomas would usually smile at him, and then Newt would kiss him, slow and sweet, thankful for his return and already dreading the morrow.  
Sometimes Alby and Minho would crack a joke or two if the mood was right, and they'd walk back to camp together with smiles, an increasingly rare sight. On particularly good days, the Gladers would whistle and holler as Newt and Thomas made their way through camp towards the kitchen, and Newt would laugh, with his head back and eyes sparkling, at the bright blush that would color Thomas's cheeks. Frypan always had something waiting for them, and they'd eat together because that was one time, at least, where it didn't matter.  
  
Once a week they'd have a bonfire, full of offbeat songs and disgusting drinks and bright laughter. It was a respite they all needed, and one they were all thankful for. Some of the boys would tussle, and some would tell stories. Thomas and Newt always sat together, close enough to the fire to be warm. Usually Newt would curl up in Thomas's lap, and there were always teasing remarks from the other boys made in good humor. Newt didn't care; Thomas was here and safe and he wasn't leaving for the next several hours and Newt would enjoy it.  
Sometimes Newt managed to get Thomas up on his feet, dancing to whatever rhythm the boys played. It was almost like a ritual dance, full of jumping and spinning, but Newt loved watching the firelight as it illuminated Thomas, casting different parts of him in light and shadow. Thomas loved the smile that seemed to make a permanent home on Newt's face while they danced. Newt caught him staring more than once, laughing at his blush and pulling him into a quick kiss. Those nights were of fun and forgetting, and for a while everything slipped away except for joy and family.  
  
Newt was haunted by the night, constantly reminded of the terrors of their situation by the darkness someone. And so Thomas would hold him, whispering comforts and running gentle fingers through his hair, and Newt would just breath and try to focus on the boy wrapped around him that held his heart. He was incredibly grateful for every night Thomas stayed up with him, fully aware of how tired the brunette was and yet willing to push off sleep until Newt himself found it.  
There was always a day, seemingly at least once a week, where nightmares would plague Newt with memories or thoughts and he'd cry, sometimes, because it all was suddenly too much. Thomas was there, of course he was, and sometimes it just made Newt want to cry more because how long would he be here? He knew he shouldn't rely on someone as much as he relied on Thomas to keep him together, and he often wondered how long they'd have together before the universe would take him away too. Thomas hated seeing Newt so shaken, but most times he didn't know what to do. So he wrapped around him and held him tightly to his chest, hoping to protect him from everything in the world that seemed out to hurt them. It usually worked, and Thomas would press a kiss to Newt's forehead as the blond fell asleep, and he'd pray that he'd get to keep this boy if nothing else because he quickly became the one thing Thomas fought for.  
  
And then they were back to the mornings, waking up slowly, with regret. There were a few days where Newt didn't let Thomas run, and they stayed together in the Glade, working side by side and so in sync that some of the Gladers wondered if they were somehow connected, because how else could two people work so seamlessly?  
Such days were few and far between. Newt remembered one in particular where Thomas refused to sit down all day, earning himself laughs and cat-calls from breakfast to bed. Newt only snickered at him.  
The usual routine, though, kept up most days, and Newt learned to function on hope alone. There wasn't much else he had whole Thomas was out, maybe dead maybe not. He tried his hardest to keep away the worry because it ate at him like a poison, slowly consuming him until he feared nothing would be left. He lived for when Thomas would skid into the Glade and kiss him breathless, relieved and passionate and so very much _alive._


End file.
